


How the Mighty Fall

by whenshewrites



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awesome Lydia Martin, Awesome Sheriff Stilinski, Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It of Sorts, Full Shift Derek Hale, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Peter Hale, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, The Nemeton - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26210026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/pseuds/whenshewrites
Summary: After the nogitsune, Stiles finds himself between Derek's broken pack and Scott's new one. But more-so, he finds himself haunted by an itch underneath his skin, an untapped spark, and a forgotten stump out in the preserve.A forgotten stump and two pairs of golden eyes.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 87
Kudos: 405





	1. Chapter 1

“Do you remember that one time I fell off my bike and sliced that line across my chest?” Stiles asked, poking at his food. From across the table, his dad gave him a startled look and slowly lowered his fork. But Stiles didn’t meet his gaze. Even as the man nodded.

“Claudia was terrified. You needed eight stitches.”

Stiles swallowed hard, his breakfast turning dry in his mouth. He could still feel his dad staring but still refused to meet his eyes, slowly lowering his spoon.

“Stiles? Is everything alright?”

Stiles forced himself to look up, plastering a smile on his face. “No, yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking. You know me, always thinking.”

He could tell the man wasn’t convinced, but his dad nodded anyway, returning to his own breakfast. He didn’t pick up the newspaper again though, so Stiles could tell the conversation wasn’t yet done. Stomach turning, he reached for his backpack and started to stand, only to freeze when his dad cleared his throat.

“Did you sleep well last night? I didn’t hear any noises coming from your bedroom.”

Stiles stared at the floor for a long moment. He knew his dad sometimes stayed awake listening in and he knew the promise he’d made to his dad when he’d come back this summer; no more secrets. No more lies.

Stiles’s mouth tasted sour as he nodded. “Yup. No nightmares.”

“And you did sleep?”

“Eight solid hours, pops. I think I’m back on the road to good health.”

He met his dad’s gaze to see the man still didn’t believe him. And that was nearly enough for Stiles to break down right there and tell him the exact truth; the way he hadn’t even gone to sleep at all. But then he saw it. That glimmer behind the man’s eyes. That tiny flicker of hope.

And Stiles forced that smile to stay on his face. “I’ve gotta go, but I should be home for dinner! I promised Scott I’d go to lacrosse tryouts with him after school.”

“Are you still playing this year?”

Stiles hesitated for a moment, before nodding. “Yeah, but you know me. No first line is ever promised unless your a werewolf. But I might as well be there for support, right?”

“Right.”

Stiles turned away, swallowing hard. He could feel the man watching him all the way to the door, unconsciously rubbing at the place right underneath his rib cage through his thick sweatshirt. It was still warm autumn; beginning of Senior year, but Stiles had nearly lost it the moment he attempted to leave the house in short sleeves earlier, so a thick sweatshirt it ended up being.

He slipped out his phone without thinking, flipping it on and glancing at the screen. It was blank. Empty. Stiles chewed on his lower lip before slipping it away again.

He thought if he drove straight past the school instead of going inside, no one could really blame him.

Some realistic part of Stiles knew that the moment he entered the school, feeling like every eye snapped to where he stood, it was all in his head. Or… a little bit, at least. He knew the whispers that had circled around during the summer. After the previous year, after the Nogitsune. Stiles’s dad had cleared up everything he could, but that still didn’t erase all the rumors.

That Stiles Stilinski had been at nearly every murder scene. That he’d been seen at the hospital where so many people died.

For a moment, Stiles entertained his dad’s earlier suggestion of online classes for his senior year. But then he slipped that small smile on his face and ducked toward his locker.

For the first time ever, no one was waiting at it for him.

Stiles hadn’t been in Beacon Hills all summer. His dad offered to take a break from his badge and get out of town, but Stiles opted to go off with his distant uncle instead. Some part of him thought he’d rather stay at his dad’s side as often as possible but then he saw the way the man had watched him. Fingers that never strayed very far from his gun, careful eyes that tracked his every step.

It was a little better now, Stiles thought. Just a little bit.

“Hello, Stiles.”

He nearly startled out of his skin. Out of all the people Stiles had expected to see that morning, Lydia had not been one of them. Stiles was pretty sure she’d taken off out of Beacon Hills for the summer too and he had to admit she looked good. Though, the last time he’d seen her had been a few weeks after the Nogitsune and Stiles was pretty sure they’d all been a mess.

“Lydia, hey.”

“You,” the girl said, as if he hadn’t said a word, “clearly have not been sleeping.”

Stiles stared at her for a long moment. Unconsciously, he reached for the spot underneath his rib cage again, tracing where the stitches had been. Was that eight years ago? Nine? He couldn’t remember exactly. His mom had still been alive.

Lydia raised a brow and Stiles shrugged, lowering his hand again. “I don’t know what you mean. I sleep.”

“How often?”

“A solid eight hours.”

The disbelief on her face was clear. Stiles ran a hand through his hair and tried to duck around the girl.

Had it been eight hours for the past few days now?

Lydia made a noise of protest and chased after him, but Stiles just kept his head down. He figured if he did that, this day could pass by quickly, right? No more questions about sleep. He’d promised his dad he was doing fine. Stiles was doing fine.

He saw Scott— met the boy’s brown-eyed gaze only seconds before Scott had yanked his gaze away— and realized he was not doing fine.

Still, he made it through the entire day. And by the end of it, realized lacrosse was a joke. Stiles remembered this one time when he’d been tackled so hard during a game, he’d flown a solid five feet into the metal pole of the goal stand. It’d cracked under his weight and scraped a bloody line straight up his back. He hadn’t needed stitches for that, but it’d hurt like _hell._

It had also scarred over. Stiles had worn that proud of his badassery on the field.

Right now, he never wanted to take off his shirt in front of anyone again.

Easily evading Lydia, managing to be completely avoided by Scott and the rest of the pack, and finding himself in his jeep, leaving the parking lot the moment school was over, Stiles half intended to drive straight home. His dad would be at work for another few hours, but maybe Stiles could make dinner again. Just like the old days.

He didn’t make it close to home before he realized what a joke that was.

Stiles found himself parking at the edge of the preserve and just staring out at it for a moment. Then he tugged up his sleeve and glanced at pale skin. The first night he’d dragged Scott out here— that stupid first night— Stiles had managed to slip in the wet leaves and scrape the underside of his wrist open. 

There was no mark now.

For the first time that day, his eyes burned and he felt like screaming.

He didn’t remember stumbling out of the jeep, but then he was wandering into the preserve. Stiles probably had worse ideas before but right now, he couldn’t hear anything over the buzzing in his ears. He was pretty sure he was panicking. But when was he not panicking anymore?

_Remember that one time I caught my hand on the door and had that epic scar across the back of it? Remember that one time mom tried to teach me sewing and I stabbed all these little white dots into my finger? Remember that one time—_

_Remember that one time—_

“Stiles!”

Stiles came snapping back to reality, eyes burning and body trembling from head to toe. Derek gripped his arms tight and searched his face, an edge behind his eyes that was almost unsettling. But this wasn’t Derek Hale, was it? Stiles couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Derek Hale.

When was the last time he’d seen Derek Hale?

The man had come by his house three weeks after the Nogitsune to say that he was leaving. His car was already packed and he wasn’t just leaving for the summer. He didn’t think, at least. He was going to go looking for his uncle and then maybe visit Cora in South America

He hadn’t seen the last of his family in too long, Derek had said. And had it been any other occasion, Stiles might have felt empty at that.

But Stiles was leaving too. So he’d just nodded and let the man pull him into a hug. It had felt like the realest thing Stiles had experienced since the Nogitsune and for the first time, he’d remembered feeling warm again.

But Derek had pulled away again too fast. And once more, everything was so _cold._

 _“Stiles._ Stiles, can you hear me?”

Stiles blinked silently at the man. Because he was probably hallucinating, right? The man with bright blue eyes in front of him wasn’t really there. He wasn’t really real. How many times had Stiles seen the man in his dreams? In his nightmares? That one time when he’d grabbed Derek by the wrist and instead of throwing him against the pillar of his loft, threw him out the window. Or that one terrible thought that spun over and over again in his head— something with flies and the smell of smoke.

“Stiles, I need you to say something. Can you say something? You’re ice cold. How long have you been out here?”

Stiles blinked slowly, glancing around. He didn’t exactly remember when it had gotten dark, but he hadn’t really been out here that long, had he? He hadn’t lost track of time. He hadn’t.

He couldn’t be doing that again.

“Derek—”

“It’s me, Stiles. I’m here.”

Stiles blinked back toward him. Carefully, he splayed a hand against the man’s chest, counting all five fingers and feeling the man’s heartbeat beneath his skin. Then he was moving forward. Moving forward in a blur of motions and Derek was wrapping arms around him before Stiles even had a chance to think. And suddenly, he was _warm_ again.

“It’s you.”

Stiles’s voice cracked. He didn’t even realize he was crying until his breaths hitched, his eyes burned, and he felt a little bit like he was falling apart inside.

“Oh my god, it is you.”

And Derek just held him tighter, whispering things that Stiles only half caught.

-

Derek tried to take him to the hospital just to make sure he was okay, but Stiles pulled away every time the man mentioned it. He figured he’d done that enough times because Derek took him home instead and in a second, Stiles was wrapped in his dad’s arms as the porch lights flipped on.

He blinked into the man’s shoulder for a second, the cold of his badge pressed against his cheek. Then his dad was stepping back and searching him from head to toe.

“Stiles, I was about to put out the call for a missing persons. What the hell happened to you?”

“I found him in the preserve, sir,” Derek said, stepping forward. The Sheriff’s eyes snapped toward him, almost a little accusing, but Derek’s stance never tightened. “He’s severely exhausted and was panicking. But I—” Derek hesitated for a second and glanced back. Stiles clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. “But I think he’s going to be alright.”

Stiles felt the weight of his dad’s stare for a long moment before the man nodded and gestured them both in. Derek still paused on the doorstep and Stiles did too, glancing back at the man. Derek glanced over his shoulder and made an abortive move backward before freezing.

“I should probably get back to the loft—”

“Son,” the Sheriff said, cutting him off. Derek’s eyes widened a little and the older man’s face softened. “Come inside.”

Slowly, Derek complied. And less than five minutes later, Stiles was wrapped in a blanket and sitting on the couch as his dad scrolled through his work phone. The man made a frustrated noise and then cursed.

“Not one answer. Not a single damn answer.”

“Dad?”

Stiles blinked out of his thoughts and his dad gave him a careful look. He hesitated for a moment before sighing, shoulders slumping in a little.

“I was trying to get a hold of Scott all afternoon. I thought you’d gone to lacrosse and then maybe to his house, but then Melissa said he’d been with Kira all afternoon. But then maybe he could have got your scent, if I could only get an answer—”

Stiles swallowed hard, pushing himself up. “I think I’m gonna go to bed.”

“Stiles?”

Stiles turned toward Derek and offered a small smile. “Thanks for saving my ass, Sourwolf. I’m, uh, glad you back in town. Just so you know. Just so you don’t get a big head and plan on leaving again without saying anything or something. And yes, that is a threat.”

Stiles could’ve sworn he caught the flicker of a smile that crossed Derek’s lips. But the man just nodded and Stiles gave his dad a small wave before plodding toward his room.

He was pretty sure he could feel both men staring. And wasn’t that exactly what he needed? More concern. The new school year was supposed to have started out different. Things were supposed to have been different.

Stiles barely made it to his bed before collapsing. And honestly didn’t expect to sleep.

But then he caught Derek’s faint piney scent on his t-shirt and something about it was so calming, he felt like he’d been slipped drugs. Stiles closed his eyes, letting himself get lost in it and in seconds, he was out like a light.

For the first time in a long time, he didn’t dream of anything.

-

There was a familiar but unexpected face at school the next day.

Stiles was pretty sure he was seeing things when he caught a glimpse of Lydia talking with Isaac literal Lahey. He didn’t remember a time when they’d ever been friends— actually, he was pretty sure they’d been the completely opposite. But Isaac was talking with a small, careful smile on his face and somehow, Lydia didn’t look like she was about to kill someone.

Stiles stood there and stared at them for a moment too long. Then someone scoffed behind him and Stiles nearly had another heart attack.

And apparently there were two familiar but unexpected faces gracing Beacon Hills with their presence that day, because Stiles could only stare again as he came face-to-face with none other than Peter Hale.

For a long moment, he was pretty sure he was losing it. Then things clicked slowly.

“Oh my god. You two came back with Derek.”

Peter looked amused. “Very well done, Stiles. I’m glad to see the Nogitsune kept that wonderful mind intact, if not dragging out a little bit of sanity when it left. I’d hate to see the clever one to not being so clever anymore.”

Stiles flinched like he’d been slapped. Peter looked a little pained for a moment before sighing. That also looked a little painful for him; or maybe it was the words that came next.

"I'm sorry, that was rude. I’m working on… not doing that. It’s one of my nephew’s ridiculous rules if I’m allowed to stay in Beacon Hills.”

Stiles stared in shock. Peter offered a small, slithery smile in return and turned away.

“Anyway. See you around, Stiles.”

“Wait!”

The man paused. And when he turned back around, he looked a little too triumphant for it not to be suspicious. Still, Stiles rubbed at the back of his neck and swallowed hard. 

“Why you two? And what about Cora? He told me he went looking for her too.”

The man just gave him a small, secretive look and turned away again. Stiles sat back on his heels, blinking as the man climbed into what he recognized as Derek’s Cruiser and pulled away. Then the parking lot was empty and Stiles still just stood there, mind spinning. 

He glanced back toward the school where Isaac and Lydia were gone now. For a moment, Stiles debated chasing them down. Demanding answers from Isaac, at least.

But instead, he moved back to his own car, pulling himself into the driver’s seat. His dad was probably going to kill him when he got the call that Stiles was skipping school. It was only the second day after all. But Stiles already knew there was no way he was concentrating with all of this hanging over his head.

Damn Peter Hale. Stiles should know better than to ever let the man bait him.

The last time he’d been at the loft, his dad had tried to put him in handcuffs. Stiles was a little relieved to see that the Cruiser wasn’t there when he arrived, but his stomach did something strange when he saw the Camaro. Stiles parked a little ways from it, pulling the keys out of the ignition and gripping them tightly as he stared at it for a moment. Then his gaze drifted to the loft and he bit down on his lip, trying to gather up all the courage that he didn’t have.

He wondered if Derek would have caught his scent by now.

He pulled himself out of the car with shaky legs and punched in the security code before heading into the loft. Stiles wondered how long it would have taken him to know Derek Hale was back in town if not for last night. Which brought up its own series of questions, if he was being honest. Because Stiles was pretty sure the loft was a little ways from the preserve and what the hell was Derek doing out there anyway?

The loft door was too loud as he pulled it open and Stiles froze for a second in the doorway.

Then suddenly, he was being rammed against the wall.

Stiles froze, throwing up his hands as he met bright golden eyes. Cora bared her teeth, claws against his neck, and Stiles was pretty sure he squeaked a little. But then her eyes focused in on his face and she let go just as fast, taking a few steps back.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Goddammit, you Hales,” Stiles muttered, rubbing at his neck. Her claws hadn’t sliced through skin, but Stiles was pretty sure her grip was going to leave a few bruises. “Can’t you ever just offer a polite hello like normal people?”

Cora’s eyes flashed and she folded her arms over her chest, not looking impressed. And yup, that expression would always pin her as a Hale. “I said, what are you doing here?”

“Looking for Derek.”

“Stiles?”

Stiles’s gaze snapped upward, where Derek stood at the top of the stairs. He’d never admit to the relief he suddenly felt and to the side, Cora made a small noise under her breath, shaking her head and heading for the door.

“Guess I’ll leave you two alone, then.”

Stiles watched her go, the relief he'd felt suddenly turning to nerves. Derek moved down the stairs and gave Stiles a strange look from the bottom of them, and he ran a hand through his hair.

“So.”

The man raised a brow. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“So, you brought all the Hales _and_ a certain curly-haired scarf lover back to Beacon Hills. Might I ask what the hell is up with that?”

“You ran into Peter?”

“And saw Isaac talking with Lydia in the parking lot. Lydia Martin. I’m pretty sure Isaac attempted to kill her multiple times, right? So either I’m losing my mind or something’s going on that I don’t know about.”

Derek’s jaw ticked and he shrugged. And that really wasn’t enough for Stiles. But the man headed for the kitchen, so Stiles stumbled after him, nerves mounting into slight irritation.

“Dammit, Derek, don’t ignore me! How long have you guys been back in Beacon Hills? Why the hell are you back in Beacon Hills? I was pretty sure the entire thing last summer was that literally everyone was trying to make a run for it.”

“We just got back a week ago,” Derek said, grabbing a mug and moving toward the coffee. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

“That’s so not an answer.”

Derek glanced over at him and still didn’t offer anything up. Stiles growled in frustration.

“Why are you back?”

“I found Cora and Peter. That’s what I’d planned on doing. That's why I'd left.”

“And what about Isaac?”

“Argent had other matters to attend to in London and he knows better than to bring a werewolf into hunter issues. He contacted me and Isaac decided to come back with us.”

“So what, this is all some big happy family reunion now? Guess all the Hale pack is missing is Erica and Boyd, huh?”

Derek tensed and set down his mug, giving Stiles a sharp blue-eyed look. Stiles clenched his jaw, a shiver running down his spine, but continued to glare. He didn’t know why any of this was getting underneath his skin, but Scott was ignoring him, Lydia was acting strange, and if Stiles was going to be left out of another pack, well…

Stiles thought maybe the wrong people had returned to Beacon Hills.

“Did you sleep last night?”

Stiles blinked at him, startled. “What?”

“Did you sleep last night?”

“Why the heck do you care, dude? Oh my god, you’re totally avoiding the real questions! I’m so confused. Were you going to tell me that you’d come back? And why were you out in the preserve last night?”

“Why were you out in the preserve last night?”

Stiles gave him a flat look, irritation rising in his throat. And Derek must have recognized it because he sighed. 

“I wanted to know if you slept because your father told me you haven’t been lately.”

“I’ve been sleeping fine.”

“You know I can hear it when your heart skips a beat, right?”

“Dammit, Derek!”

The man just looked at him quietly. Stiles was partly tempted to go off on a rant and partly tempted to strangle the asshole. But instead, he just turned away, waving a hand through the air. 

“Fine, whatever, don't tell me anything. I’m going home.”

“You mean back to school?”

Stiles stilled and tensed up, shooting the man a dark look over his shoulder. Derek raised an eyebrow, picking up his coffee again.

“You can’t skip school, Stiles. Unless you don’t want to graduate.”

“I can’t— are you serious right now? You know what I want, asshole? I want for this to be a normal senior year. I want to be more worried about getting into a good college than I am about what threat might come to Beacon Hills next. I want my best friend to stop ignoring me and I want my father to not look at me like he’s seeing a ghost!”

Derek’s grip around his cup turned white. Stiles scoffed, shaking his head, and turned away.

“I want you to have stayed gone.”

He didn’t get an answer, stalking across the loft, out the door, and slamming it shut behind him. He paused there for a moment, eyes burning, and scrubbed a hand over his face with a groan. Then, forcing himself not to look back, Stiles started away.

The loft door never opened back up behind him.

He didn't go back to school.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles thought it was funny how quickly some things changed.

Four years ago, his biggest worry had been going into high school and figuring out how to get Lydia Martin to fall in love with him. Three years ago, it had been figuring out how to keep Scott alive when he’d been turned into a werewolf. Two years ago had been dealing with Derek and the Kanima, and one year had been mourning the loss of people he had considered... friends?

Yeah, friends.

Stiles thought it was funny how quickly things changed.

Surprisingly, his dad didn’t mention him missing school. If he’d gotten a call, he never said a word. Stiles made dinner, feeling like he was trying to recreate a time that was long gone, and they ate it together, quiet around the kitchen table.

The rest of the week has passed without incident.

There was this board that Stiles had taken down in his room down before he’d left last summer, though he’d never really thrown it out. Sitting cross-crossed on his bed now, homework spread out in front of him, Stiles chewed on his lower lip as he gazed at it. Sitting on his desk, still covered in little lines of multiple colors.

There hadn’t been anything to make colors for lately. Unless Stiles was going to take Derek’s sudden appearance into account at least, which he was determined not to.

He hadn’t gone back to the loft since that Monday and he hadn’t seen Derek since. Stiles was a little proud of how he’d managed to avoid Lydia and Isaac all week as well, watching them silently and just wondering.

He hadn’t seen any of Peter either. But Stiles couldn’t care less about that.

Chewing on the end of his pen, Stiles pushed himself up and moved toward the board. The last lines he’d made went to the picture of Eichen House. Then there was one stretching to Lydia’s picture. One pinned to Scott’s.

A red one and a blue one wrapped around Derek’s.

Stiles tilted his head and gazed at the photo. It was the one he’d ‘borrowed’ from his dad’s case file on Derek when they’d been pursuing the man for his sister’s death. That was so long ago, Stiles could almost look back at it fondly. 

He couldn’t believe that was actually a better time. Moments of ‘This is private property’ and threats of getting his throat ripped out could very nearly make him smile.

There was a soft knock on his door and Stiles didn’t even turn toward it, eyes still fixed on the photo. “I’m a little busy, dad.”

But the knock just came again. Lowering the pen from his mouth, Stiles finally turned.

“Uh, I’m homeworking, dad.”

The door opened and Stiles moved away from his desk, away from the board, as fast as he could. But then he froze when his dad wasn’t the one to come through the door. Instead, Lydia peeked in, red hair falling around her shoulders. 

Green eyes swept over the room and then landed on where Stiles stood, his mouth hanging open a little. The girl rolled her eyes and pushed inside, a glance going to the board on Stiles’s desk next. She huffed and raised a brow, looking back at Stiles.

“Homeworking?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Your dad let me in,” Lydia said, moving over to his bed. She dropped her bag onto his mattress and pulled out a few books as Stiles continued to stare in confusion. “We’re going to do actual homework together.”

“Uh, why?”

She gave him an unimpressed look. “Because you’ve been avoiding me and I’m not having that, Stiles.”

Stiles opened and closed his mouth, but Lydia was already dropping onto his bed, shifting his pillows around to make herself comfortable. After a long moment of standing there, Stiles moved to the other side and settled down across from her, giving the girl a wary look.

Lydia gave him a flat one in response. But then her face softened.

“I’ve missed you.”

Stiles’s throat tightened and he didn’t say a word, glancing down at his chemistry book and flipping to the page she was on.

They worked in silence until the light coming through Stiles’s window wasn’t orange anymore and he had to reach across his bed, flipping on his desk lamp. Lydia yawned then, stretching out across his mattress.

Stiles couldn’t withhold a huff. A couple of years ago, if he would’ve had Lydia Martin in his room, on his _bed,_ it might’ve been a wet dream. But as it was, Stiles couldn’t help a rush of fondness instead of anything else.

Lydia narrowed her eyes at him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Stiles, you’ve been periodically staring at me since I’ve walked through your bedroom door. Now either something’s bothering you, you’re still hopelessly head over heels, or you haven’t been concentrating on a word we’ve studied all night.”

Stiles winced. “One and three?”

He got a small smile in return. The girl propped her chin on her hands, raising a brow.

“So? What do you want to know?”

“Uh, come again?”

“What do you want to know first? About Isaac? Or about how I know that Derek’s back in town?”

Stiles blinked at that. “You know Derek’s back in town?”

“Stiles. Come on.”

Stiles debated for a moment and then decided he could care less about Derek’s grumpy-growly self. Totally. “Okay, since when were you and Isaac buddy-buddy? I thought the guy would’ve run right back into Scott's arms the moment he came back. But he hasn't done anything of the sort all week.”

Lydia just shrugged. “He was just looking for a family. Things are different now.”

“Uh, you mean different from that one time he tried to kill you multiple times on Derek’s orders?”

“Yes, Stiles. That time.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. Because Lydia was cutthroat and he couldn’t see her forgiving and forgetting so easily. There was something else. There had to be something else.

Seeing his expression, Lydia sighed. “Allison was my best friend, Stiles. And he’d fallen in love with her.”

_Oh._

Stiles clenched his jaw and dropped his gaze back to the textbook in front of him. His throat constricted and suddenly, he felt a little sick. Because that made sense, didn’t it? Maybe he hadn’t been avoiding Lydia and Isaac all week. Maybe it had been the other way around.

Why the hell would Isaac ever want to look him in the eyes again anyway?

He jerked at the sudden touch on his hand. Lydia gave him a careful look, fingertips brushing against his own. “He doesn’t blame you, Stiles.”

Stiles didn’t say a word. 

“I don’t either.”

“Yeah, well, you should. Scott does.”

The words spilled out before Stiles could stop them and he closed his eyes, taking a shuddering breath. But he’d never forget how it had felt when he’d collapsed in that underground hallway, Lydia at his side, Allison’s name shrieked from her mouth. Then stumbling out, feeling like something was _wrong,_ only to see Allison cradled in Scott’s arms.

The look the boy had given him was pure anguish. And then it changed. It changed to something empty, something cold, and Stiles was pretty sure he knew exactly what it felt like when pack bonds were broken.

It didn't feel like losing a limb, he thought. But he'd lost _something._

Lydia gripped his hand tightly and Stiles came back to reality realizing he was trembling a little. Concern was written across her face and when he tried to draw his hand away, she held on tighter.

“It wasn’t your fault, Stiles.”

He’d heard that so many times, it sounded a bit like a recording playing over and over again. “Why are you here, Lydia?”

“Because I care about you,” the girl said. “And I’m not the only one.”

Stiles swallowed hard, glancing back at his desk. Back at the board. The bed shifted as Lydia pulled away, gathering up her books and slipping them back into her bag, and Stiles tensed as she started to stand. She gave him a curious look at that and for a moment, Stiles’s mouth felt dry.

The next words came out ragged. “Can you stay?”

“Stiles—”

“No, not like that,” he said. “Not like that. Just… only if you don’t have anywhere else to be. I mean, if your mom is going to freak out or something, that’s fine. I know I said I sleep but it’s kind of slow going and my dad’s leaving for a night shift in a few hours and—”

“Okay,” Lydia said, cutting him off. She dropped her bag back to the floor and gave him a gentle look. “Okay, Stiles.”

Stiles couldn’t quite describe the feeling in his chest as the girl crawled back into bed with him. But it was kind of like something loosening. Something else moving back into place.

He didn’t think much of it as Lydia flipped off the desk light and curled against Stiles in a way that made him warmer than he’d ever expected.

He was kind of happy he wasn't his younger self anymore.

-

The first time Stiles came face to face with Isaac again, he felt like he was about to crawl out of his skin. He stood in front of the table where the beta and Lydia sat, twitching with the urge to just keep walking to the library to finish his lunch there like he’d been doing for the past few weeks.

The words _‘I’m sorry’_ formed on his tongue but before he could get them out, there was a face buried in the crook of his neck and Stiles froze as Isaac whined softly.

He blinked at Lydia for a moment and she smirked. Then carefully, he patted Isaac on the back, not sure what else to do with himself.

“Um..”

Isaac pulled back, looking a little bashful. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Wait, what?”

Lydia rolled her eyes but Stiles was pretty sure this was the exact opposite of what he’d expected. Or what he deserved. He stared at the boy for a moment, all apologies dying on his tongue. And for the first time, they didn’t come rushing back right away.

But _it was nice to see him again?_ After everything that happened? After everything he’d done?

Stiles felt a little panicked, trying to shove that feeling down. Because Isaac was looking nervous and wide-eyed again and Stiles was struck by the sudden urge to make sure the beta didn’t look like that ever again, thank you very much.

Carefully, he set his tray down and sat down beside the boy's own. Isaac looked a lot like Stiles remembered, if not a little less tired. He still remembered seeing him in the office of the police station, words shaking as he turned Allison’s death into a murder underneath the watchful eye of Chris Argent.

_It happened so fast._

“Uh, so you’re staying with Derek at the loft?”

“For now.”

Stiles gave him a confused look and Isaac shrugged, poking at his food. “Derek’s selling the loft once he gets the house rebuilt.”

“The _what now?”_

“The Hale house,” Isaac said, looking a little confused. “In the preserve. That night he was out there when he found you? He’d been out there all day.”

Stiles looked at Lydia, who had a carefully schooled expression, and then gazed down at his food. Suddenly, his appetite was gone. 

So that’s why Derek had been out there. But why hadn’t the man just told him so? Stiles poked at his mac and cheese as his head spun. That… well, he supposed it made sense. The loft was only so big. But that meant was Derek doing something. Getting his life together.

Stiles didn’t know how that made him feel. They all had to move on at some point, he supposed.

“He’s building a packhouse.”

Isaac looked surprised. “Sure, I guess.”

“But he's not an Alpha.”

“Does he have to be?”

“Right,” Stiles said, still poking at his food. If he thought about it, he supposed he really didn’t know much about werewolf politics or what qualified as what. The past few years, he’d been so wrapped up in just surviving and trying to figure things out as they were thrown at him, he hadn’t ever really slowed down to look at everything. The entire board.

The entire board.

“I’ve gotta go look something up,” Stiles said suddenly, pushing himself up. Both Isaac and Lydia looked at him in surprise but Stiles just grabbed his backpack and started from the cafeteria. He ignored Lydia’s call, heading straight for the library.

He stayed there straight through the rest of lunch, but went to the rest of his classes. Lydia continued to give him curious looks throughout the rest of the day, but Stiles pretended he didn’t see them.

His head was miles away.

He went straight to Derek’s loft after school, relieved to see the Camaro was there. And when he went upstairs, there was no Cora to shove him against the nearest wall this time. But Derek was sitting on the couch, reading a book in sweatpants and actually looking _domestic,_ and Stiles didn’t know what to do with that either.

The man straightened as Stiles pushed into the loft. But Stiles didn’t wait for him to speak, running a hand through his hair as he paced.

“Why did you come back, Derek?”

The man raised an eyebrow. Stiles paused, facing him, and raised his own. 

“Dude, it’s a simple question.”

Slowly, Derek lowered his book. But instead of answering right away, he pushed himself up and moved closer, inhaling deeply. Then a slightly pleased expression crossed his face. “You talked to Isaac.”

“Oh my god, stop changing the subject. Why did you come back to Beacon Hills?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Derek, dude! Answer the damn question!”

Derek drew back a little, though he looked a little troubled now. After a second, he shook his head. “The same reason I came back the first time."

"Which is?"

"I needed to."

“Okay," Stiles said. "What does that mean?”

The man worked his jaw, looking at Stiles for a long moment. Then he moved back toward the couch and Stiles moved after him after a second. There was a map spread across the coffee table, he noticed. And a few areas circled in red.

The place of the old Hale house. Certain parts of the preserve around it.

The Nemeton.

Stiles’s blood went cold and he looked at Derek carefully. But the man’s attention was on him. 

“It’s like with Laura,” Derek said, tracing his finger over a spot near that Hale house. “That’s where the deer with the revenge spiral was found. That’s what brought her back.” His finger traced to the house. “The Alphas came into town and I took my pack back to the house.” Then his finger went to the Nemeton. “The Nogitsune got into your head and I dreamed of a wolf and the Nemeton.”

Stiles’s throat turned dry. “And this time?”

The man glanced up at him. “I went to South America and found Cora. She felt it too. Peter found me, I didn’t find him. Then Argent called me about Isaac and he wanted to come home.”

“Wait, felt it? Felt what?”

“The pull to come back to Beacon Hills.”

Stiles studied the man, but he couldn’t read Derek’s expression. The words were plain. Simple. Glancing back down at the map, Stiles traced the lines to the Nemeton. Because there— there he hadn’t been back to since they buried the Nogitsune back underneath its roots.

“So is something coming then?” Stiles asked, still looking at the spot. “Is that why you’ve come back?”

Derek didn’t say a word. And Stiles really hoped that wasn’t an answer. Quietly, he sunk down on the couch at Derek’s side and stayed there, staring at the map, until nightfall came.

He barely even noticed Derek's expression as the man watched him carefully.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles hadn’t dreamed of the Nemeton since the Nogitsune left.

But that night in an empty bed, Stiles found himself falling asleep and waking up with his feet sinking into dead leaves and a giant stump sitting in front of him. It seemed to glow in the moonlight and Stiles felt the familiar clutch of fear wrap around his heart as he just stood there and stared, remembering the feeling of the Nogitsune in his head. The way it took control of his limbs and always forced him into the back of his own head.

Usually, he could hear it speaking. Just to him, just their conversations. Back and forth as if Stiles was doing anything more than screaming. 

There was no voice now. But he could hear the distant sound of howls and somewhere beyond the stump, there were two figures racing through the darkness. Hand in hand, running from the howls as if it was death approaching.

Stiles tried to move forward, but his feet were stuck. He could only stand there and watch as the howls grew closer. Red eyes pierced through the darkness and something in his chest twisted.

There was one howl he could’ve sworn he recognized. One pair of eyes that glowed brighter than the rest.

Suddenly, red turned to gold and Stiles didn’t have a chance to react as two feral wolves raced out of the trees and went straight for his throat.

He woke up screaming— and Stiles hadn’t done that in a long time. He took special care to fall asleep when his dad was at work, staying up as late as he could when the man wasn’t. Because he was supposed to be getting better. He was supposed to be doing fine.

Except the person that pinned him down wasn’t his dad. Stiles realized that in about three seconds when his eyes snapped open and he was met with bright blue eyes in return. Suddenly, everything came rushing back and panic crashed over him once more. Stiles yelped and squirmed, trying to break loose.

The grip on his wrists tightened. “Dammit, Stiles, stop fighting me!”

It took Stiles about three seconds to realize the bright blue eyes weren’t ripping his throat out. It took him a few more to realize it was _Derek’s_ voice penetrating his terror and then he stopped flailing, chest rising and falling in heavy pants as he blinked at the man.

Derek was in his room. Derek was pulling him awake from a nightmare instead of his dad. 

The panic came back and Stiles eyed him nervously.

“This is you, isn’t it?”

The man looked a little confused, carefully letting go of Stiles’s wrists. “It’s me.”

“I’m not still dreaming.”

The blue faded from Derek’s eyes and he reached over, flipping on the light. Stiles shied away from it, blinking hard, and turned back toward the man to see Derek holding up two hands. Ten fingers. His heart did something strange in his chest and Stiles sat up slowly, pulling his blankets tighter around his shoulders.

“What are you doing here?”

“Checking in.”

“But my dad—”

“Left a few hours ago. He got a call to the station.”

Stiles stared at the man. Derek’s face slowly tinted red and he averted his eyes. Toward Stiles’s wide-open window, which had him sitting up even straighter.

“Oh my god, dude, were you camping outside of my window?”

Derek rolled his eyes but dropped his gaze. Stiles figured that was more than enough of an answer, drawing away a little.

“I told you I’m doing fine.”

“Because that sounded like you were doing fine.”

Stiles glared at him before glancing down at his own hands. He counted ten fingers just to be sure and realized they were trembling slightly. Balling them into fists, he tucked them into his lap and glanced back up at Derek, who was watching him carefully.

“I’m fine, Derek.”

The man’s face softened a fraction and Stiles thought he hated that. Last night, he’d been sorely tempted to call Lydia and ask her to come over again. She’d come a few more times since that first night and Stiles found himself sleeping less fitfully the more often she did. He wasn’t sure what had stopped him tonight, but he hadn’t.

Maybe it was knowing his dad was one door down and the first time he’d come across Stiles waking up with Lydia in his arms, he pulled Stiles aside for the ‘talk’. And Stiles might have laughed if he hadn’t been unwilling to admit why she was really there.

Derek’s face did something strange and he leaned forward, sniffing. Stiles gave him a flat look as the man raised an eyebrow.

“Lydia’s been here.”

“Dude, it’s called personal space.”

“Why has Lydia been here?”

Stiles clenched his jaw and glared even harder. Derek didn’t seem to be taking the hint though, so Stiles finally sighed. “Not that it’s any of your business, but she spends the night sometimes.”

Derek’s face tightened a little. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Oh my god, not like that. It… helps.”

“Helps.”

Stiles just looked at him and then Derek’s expression cleared. If anything, he looked a little guilty. Stiles supposed at least knowing Derek hadn’t figured that out meant the man didn’t spend too many nights living outside of his window.

Which was a relief. Right?

“Okay,” Stiles said quietly. “I’m going to go back to sleep now.”

Once more, Derek looked like a deer caught in headlights. He made an abortive move up and then paused. Stiles didn’t know what to do with the way he glanced back. “Do you need someone to stay?”

Stiles stared for a moment. His mind flashed back to his dream which was already rapidly fading. The Nemeton, the glowing eyes. The _golden_ eyes.

“No,” he said. “No, I’m fine.”

He was pretty sure the man could hear his heart skip a beat. But Derek didn’t press it, pushing himself up and moving toward the window. Stiles sunk back into his bed for a second before propping himself back up on his elbows.

“And actually go back to the loft, Sourwolf. That’s a warning.”

When Derek looked back, ears still slightly red, there could have been the hint of a smile on his lips. But before Stiles could be sure, he was pulling himself out the window and was gone. Stiles stared after him for a moment before reaching over, clicking off his light.

He gazed up at the ceiling for a long time. And somehow, the room felt a little less empty when he fell back asleep.

This time, there were no dreams.

-

“Okay,” Stiles said, dropping down at their cafeteria table the next day. He plopped a stack of books down too, ignoring Lydia’s raised eyebrow and Isaac’s confused look. “I think I’m starting to get a theory.”

“A theory of what?”

“What do you think?” Stiles said, flipping open the first book. “Of why Derek and you all are back, and what the heck pulled him here.”

“Nothing pulled me here,” Lydia said, taking a bite of her apple. “I was just visiting London.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I’m talking about Isaac, Cora, and the Creeperwolf. It’s all gotta be connected, right? I mean, Derek said Peter found him. Peter doesn’t go looking for anyone. He takes care of himself and only himself. So there’s gotta be a reason, right?”

“Stiles, I think you're looking for points that don’t connect.”

Stiles gave Lydia a flat glare before giving Isaac a pleading look. But the beta just dropped his gaze to his food and Stiles sighed, turning his attention to the book. It was one of Chris Argent’s bestiaries that Stiles may or may not have borrowed from Derek’s loft the last time he’d been there. It’s not like Derek was putting it to any good use.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll put this to good use myself. But I’m not wrong.”

Isaac and Lydia exchanged dubious looks, which Stiles very pointedly ignored. He knew it had to be something. There had to be something.

He wasn’t going crazy again.

Because if there wasn’t something, then Stiles was going to crawl out of his skin. He kept finding himself zoning out more and more often. One class would start and Stiles wouldn’t realize he’d been staring at the wall until Lydia was shaking his shoulder. There was the sound of howls in his ears and this itch underneath his skin that Stiles couldn’t escape.

He remembered the last time he’d had one of those. And the thought of it terrified him.

“I’m not wrong,” Stiles muttered again. He couldn’t be.

Neither Lydia nor Isaac said anything. And Stiles found himself zoning out into the words he was attempting to read until the bell ending lunch rang.

One word caught his eye though. Stiles could’ve sworn he’d heard it somewhere before.

He was startled by a tap on his shoulder, waving a hand through the air without thinking about it. The rest of the cafeteria was emptying out but Stiles could be a little late to his next class. Harris could suck it.

“One sec, Lyds. I think I might have found something.”

“Stiles.”

He tensed, eyes snapping forward. Lydia and Isaac stood in front of him, eyes fixed on the person over his shoulder, and Stiles slowly turned around. He could have whimpered when he saw Scott, fumbling to close his book and climb to his own feet. The boy took a step back as Stiles took one forward and he abruptly froze.

“S-Scott. Hey, buddy.”

“Can we talk?”

Stiles glanced over his shoulder without thinking about it. Lydia’s eyes were unreadable and Isaac looked a little torn. Slowly, he glanced back forward, trying not to look too eager as he nodded. “Like now? Or later? After school? We could go by Betty’s diner and order milk shakes or burgers or something—”

Scott glanced over his shoulder. “Now? Alone.”

Once more, Stiles was nodding. He didn’t glance back this time, a little too worried about the expressions he’d see. But the moment Scott’s shoulders relaxed, he realized Lydia and Isaac had to be gone, carefully sinking back down into his seat.

“It, uh, been a while.”

Scott wasn’t quite focused in on his face. Nervously, Stiles wet his lips.

“Scotty?”

“I need to know why Derek’s back.”

Stiles stared at him for a moment. He was pretty sure he’d missed something or things weren’t adding up. Scott finally met his gaze and Stiles swallowed hard. “Derek?”

“I need to know why he’s back.”

“Why do you think I would know about that?”

“You smell like him,” Scott said, looking a little frustrated. “And for some reason, he came to you before me. So I need to know why he’s back and if he’s going to be a problem.”

Stiles tensed. His blood turned cold. Pushing himself back up, Stiles studied his best friend. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“He’s an omega bringing wolves into my territory,” Scott said, expression blank. “Without permission. Without even announcing his presence. I need to know if it’s going to be a problem.”

“Bringing— dude, what? It’s Derek’s family.”

“And Isaac.”

“What’s wrong with Isaac?”

“Nothing’s wrong with Isaac,” Scott snapped, a hint of red in his eyes. “But there’s a pack of _omegas_ in my territory and I’m supposed to do something about that. What do you not understand?”

Stiles pulled back, his throat closing. For a moment, he could just stare at the boy. Then he reached down, gathering up his bag and books, and turned away. 

He didn’t make a few feet before there was a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back. Stiles spun around with a snarl and Scott’s eyes flashed red as he yanked his hand away.

“Don’t touch me, Scott. I swear to god, don’t you dare touch me.”

“Oh, you’re the one that gets to say that here?”

_“Don’t.”_

“Tell Derek I want to talk to him.”

“Tell him yourself.”

Scott’s eyes were fully red now and Stiles was pretty sure if anyone came across them, that was going to put one of them in a mental institution. But Stiles had been there before and he didn’t plan on ever going back. He turned away again, starting out of the empty cafeteria, when Scott’s voice rang out behind him.

“You know she’s dead because of you, don't you?”

Stiles went stock-still, staring at nothing. For a second, all he could hear was Lydia’s shriek. Echoing through his ears, chest tightening, and something inside of him curled into a ball. Scott didn’t say another word and Stiles forced himself back to reality, starting forward again. “I know.”

There was nothing but silence at his back. 

He waited until he was far enough away from the Alpha’s hearing to finally shut down.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles knew that Isaac and Lydia were looking for him.

He saw Isaac waiting at his locker later on that day and immediately turned on his heel. But then Lydia was stationed outside his next class and Stiles could have screamed in frustration, spinning right back around and making for the nearest exit instead.

Because what were another few classes skipped? Technically, Stiles couldn’t get detention from Harris for ditching last time if he failed to show up once again.

He figured he was probably digging a hole that was going to bitch to climb out of later. But as Stiles made for his jeep, head clearing a little in the fresh air, he really couldn’t care less.

Dropping his stack of books into the passenger seat, Stiles stared at them for a moment. Memories of that one map back at Derek’s loft flashed in front of his eyes and he clenched his jaw, jabbing his keys into the ignition.

Except, at the same time, memories from his nightmare the previous night made him hesitate. Stiles threw one more sideways glance at the stack of books, before taking the turn in the complete opposite direction of Derek’s loft.

It wasn’t like he’d gotten any good answers from the werewolf last time anyway.

There was one road in the preserve that Stiles hadn’t taken since this one rainy night years ago. When his only thought had been his dad; _saving_ his dad. When there was more than one Alpha in Beacon Hills and Stiles had taken a wrong turn too fast, swerving into a tree so hard, he’d been knocked out for the good part of an hour.

There was one road in the preserve that took Stiles to this one dirt path; leading into the woods and memories that he had long since tried to forget.

There was this one forgotten stump in the preserve that Stiles found himself trembling from head to toe as he approached it, heartbeat echoing in his ears.

Of all the stupid ideas he’d ever had, he figured this might be one of the worst. A flash of golden eyes nearly made Stiles’s heart stop, but then it was just the reflection of the sun through the trees. He gripped his brand new baseball bat tightly as he approached an old stump— the bat being an investment he’d made months ago, wrapped in wolfsbane, and it still didn’t make him feel much better.

 _No,_ Stiles remembered this. This place, this feeling. Fireflies in the night, a storm in the air as the roots around the Nemeton had begun to crack and crumble.

“Goddammit,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. This was stupid, he was stupid, and what even was the point of this little hike? Looking at the Nemeton again, Stiles blinked away the memories of the past and took in what it had really become; a rotted old stump overgrown by vines, in the middle of the woods that no one remembered.

It was just what the last few days— weeks— had been. Derek coming back, that stupid map, Stiles’s stupid brain. He hadn’t dreamed of the Nemeton since the Nogitsune left, and the stump in front of him wasn’t really the Nemeton that used to haunt his nightmares.

“Goddammit,” Stiles said again, hating himself a little. Because skipping class and wandering out into the woods was real healthy, wasn’t it? He was totally on the road to becoming in tip-top shape again.

Absolutely.

He was half-tempted to turn around and make the trudge back to his jeep. But instead, glaring at the thing that had haunted him for so long, Stiles gripped his baseball bat tighter. It was everything— _everything—_ the last few days, weeks, months. It was him, it was Derek, it was Scott. The memories, the nightmares, and the stupid way he couldn’t get out of his own head sometimes.

Letting out a noise of frustration, Stiles swung as hard as he could at the stump. There was a loud crack as his brand new baseball bat shattered on impact, splinters of wood going everywhere.

And Stiles really could just scream.

The impact was jarring all the way up his arms and he swore loudly, dropping down to his knees. Frustration rose in his throat and Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, biting down hard on his tongue. Because dammit, it was all so _messed up._ God, he was so messed up.

His hand stung.

Dully, he opened his eyes and glanced down. There was a fresh splinter sticking out of his palm and Stiles’s throat tightened a little bit. A line of blood streaked across pale skin, right under another pale scar.

Fuck. 

_Hey, dad, remember that one time I caught my hand on the door and had that epic scar across the palm of it? Remember that one time mom tried to teach me sewing and I stabbed all those little white dots into my finger?_

_Remember that one time?_

_Remember?_

Through blurry eyes, Stiles watched a drop of blood roll down the side of his hand. It was so red, streaking across his palm and then falling— landing with a silent plop at the base of the Nemeton’s stump. 

And then his head exploded in pain.

-

The Nogitsune had always liked the Nemeton, but this time felt different.

When he was possessed, every time Stiles would find himself at Void’s mercy and they ended up here, the air was cold. There were fireflies in the air, whispers of warning, and all Stiles could do was watch the roots of the Nemeton crumble all over again— but this time, there was nothing he could do as it buried his dad alive underneath.

That was what the Nogitsune had liked to show him, laughing softly in his ear.

But this time was a little different.

Stiles didn’t really understand the whispers in his ears. There was something familiar about them; warm breaths against his neck and a tingling racing down his spine. Every time he tried to spin around, catch the source of the unintelligible voices, there was no one.

The clearing was empty.

Unconsciously, Stiles turned back around toward the Nemeton. Except it was gone; all of it was gone, everything except for the smallest green sapling in the middle of an old dirt circle where the stump had once been.

Some part of him thought it was strange. Because there was nothing terrifying about a little sprouting tree and there was nothing terrifying about the forest around it. Not like every other time Stiles had ever stepped foot anywhere close to the Nemeton.

He felt a little disconnected from his own head, staring at the ruins of what used to be his worst nightmare.

Then suddenly, something growled in the trees beyond. Gold cut through the darkness and this time, it wasn’t the sunlight. Golden eyes and the sound of racing footsteps, followed by a faint howl.

But before Stiles could even begin to concentrate on the sound or the glowing eyes, he was once more distracted by the faint stinging of his palm. He glanced down to see blood steadily dripping to the leaves, a stark red contrast against the clearing that seemed to be so young and reborn.

 _Red,_ Stiles thought, feeling a little dazed. A little drunk. Like those days when he used to go without sleeping for days.

_Red._

His hand stung and Stiles traced a finger over the pale scar right above the fresh cut. That one stung a little too, even though it had been years.

_Remember that one time?_

And just like that, Stiles snapped out of his head again.

-

It was a crack in the woods that had him sitting straight up. 

The rush of it all was so sudden, Stiles felt sick. He was pretty sure if he’d actually had anything to eat other than a slice of toast for breakfast that morning, he would have emptied out the contents of his stomach right there. But Stiles just doubled over instead, clutching his head and letting out a groan as the world slowly stopped spinning around him.

Then there was the sound of leaves crunching, footsteps moving toward him, and Stiles scrambled backward, grabbing madly for his baseball bat.

Before he remembered it was in splinters.

“Wait, no, don’t—”

“Calm down, Red,” a voice drawled. And it took Stiles a moment to realize he _recognized_ it— a realization that only made him scramble further away.

“Get the hell away from me, Creeperwolf.”

“Oh, great.” Leaves crunched again as the figure drew back and Stiles glared up at sharp blue eyes. “I haven’t even done anything wrong yet and I’m still the bad guy. Am I interrupting naptime, Stiles?”

Stiles hated how Peter’s eyes seemed to glitter in the darkness. The man tilted his head, glancing around, and then his gaze went back to where Stiles was practically curled up on the ground.

“Come out here for the scenery?”

“Buzz off, Creeperwolf,” Stiles said darkly, pushing himself up. The world spun for a moment and he swayed a little, but Peter just watched. Even in the darkness, the man looked a little amused. 

“It’s a good thing my nephew has had me tailing you all day. You might’ve become something’s meal out here all alone.”

“Derek… _what?”_

Peter grinned, teeth sharp. And god, Stiles hated him. His head still ached and unconsciously, he glanced down at his hand. The cut really wasn’t as deep as he’d thought. The blood was already dry and crusted.

Peter coughed into his fist and Stiles glared at him. “Derek has you following me?”

“Oh, believe me, I wasn’t excited about it either.”

Clenching his jaw, Stiles glanced around. Night had fallen over the trees and everything, _everything,_ about the clearing was terrifying as it had been before he’d passed out. Which—

“How long was I unconscious?”

Peter just smirked. Stiles rolled his eyes, kicking aside the remains of his baseball bat and starting toward the path out of the woods. 

“Whatever, asshole.”

“Going somewhere?”

Stiles threw a sharp look over his shoulder to see Peter moving after him. And wasn’t this just his life now? Peter Hale, resident Zombiewolf, was apparently his newest stalker. What fun. “The loft.”

“Oh,” Peter’s eyes glittered. “That should be interesting.”

Stiles just ignored him, cursing internally as he tried to pick his way through the trees. He’d left his phone in his jeep and that had probably been the first of his mistakes. Hopefully, his dad was still on a long shift, and he wouldn’t have sent a search patrol after Stiles by now.

And hopefully, Lydia and Isaac weren’t going to turn him in.

But god, Peter Hale? Stiles finally came out of the woods and stalked toward his jeep, faintly aware that the Creeperwolf was still trailing after him. He was so going to chew the living life out of Derek. The last thing he needed was a babysitter.

And there was no way he was giving Peter a ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh geez, how long has it been since I've updated this fic? I finally have some inspiration to write again, so I'm determined to get back to my wips. Hopefully, this chapter wasn't too rough and I'll see you guys again soon for another update!

**Author's Note:**

> A take on the prompt "Can we have more bad friend Scott McCall? Like he kicks Stiles out of Kira, Malia, Liam, etc. pack and Stiles goes to Derek and his betas?" and it was going to be a quick one-shot but then I got an idea that wouldn't leave me alone. So maybe it'll be a short-ish fic? I'm still working it out but I'd love to hear what you all thought!


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